Apollo X
by Roterx
Summary: Alex is abducted by a group of mysterious thugs, who seem to have some sort of obsession with the Moon... p.s this is only a draft, you will have to wait for the full version, which i will post as 'Apollo X', and i will rename this one 'Apollo X draft '
1. Rain

Rain

It was the middle of summer, and it was raining. And not just rain. This was a downpour, the raindrops bouncing off the streets and the cars as if trying to get back to the sky. A boy left his home in Chelsea and walked down the street. His name was Alex Rider. Stupid weather, he thought. It had been like this for a few days now, and frankly, he was fed up of it. His long trudge to his school – Brooklands – could never have been more boring, and Alex simply wanted to get to school, indoors, in cover from the rain. He had enjoyed school recently, unlike most of his classmates. But what they didn't know was that Alex had had quite a strange time recently. He had been blackmailed by MI6 Special Operations to work for them twice, and they had used him many times afterwards. But after his last assignment, he had been injured, and he had been promised by the deputy at MI6 – Mrs Jones – that they weren't going to use him again. He felt good, living a normal life. Going to school, talking to friends – the few he had left anyway – and mainly not being in danger of death every five minutes. And Alex felt he was finally starting to get back into things. Business as usual.

And then one of the cars exploded. Instinctively, Alex threw himself to the floor. It was just as well that he had, because a second later, a large chunk of shrapnel spiralled over Alex's head, and he knew if he hadn't have moved, it would now be lodged in his back. Brilliant orange flames curled up from the remains of the car, and threatened another explosion. Alex lay curled on the pavement, until he was sure the fire had gone out. He stood up, and inspected the damage. A few windows of nearby houses were smashed, and there were dying embers where people's shrubbery had been set alight. It was a miracle that the fire hadn't spread, although the rain must have helped, Alex thought. He had no doubt that the police were already on their way, but just to be sure, he dialled 999. About ten minutes later, the whole area had been cornered off with blue and white tape, and if you looked closely, you could have noticed the boy being driven away in a black Land Rover, with a stern, blank faced man at the wheel.


	2. Target

Target

The building loomed large, overlooking Liverpool Street. The rain was beating down on the windows and the old brick walls. A black Land Rover turned round the corner and entered the underground car park under the building. Most people who walked past would take no notice. Another old fashioned bank, they would think. But that was what the owners wanted. Although the golden plaque on the door said 'Royal & General Bank', what was contained inside was something very different. The building was in fact the base of operations of MI6, the secret service, who had had a difficult time recently. The Prime Minister had decided – for some unknown reason – that they weren't needed anymore. The head of MI6 – Alan Blunt – was sat at his desk, reliving the argument he had had with the PM.

"How do you expect to keep this country running?" He had argued.

"I don't understand."

"With the amount of threats to this country at the moment, how can you expect to close us down and there not be consequences?"

"Look, Blunt-"

"No! People will die! You cannot do this!"

"I'm sorry Blunt, but this is happening, whether you like it or not. Now get out of my office."

Blunt was angry with himself for not trying harder, but it was clear that the PM had made his decision. To tell the truth, he had not been as effective as he had once been. His decisions were not very good, and good agents had died because of it. At one point he had even thought of resigning, but he felt Mrs Jones was not ready to take over yet. Mrs Jones was Blunt's deputy, and although he didn't want to tell her, it mainly was her fault why MI6 had failed so much recently. If he had been left to do what he pleased, Blunt would have used his secret weapon many times, and everything would be fine. Of course, his secret weapon was controversial, but then again, when had secret intelligence _not _been controversial? His secret weapon was now sat in the reception area, waiting to come in. Blunt paused for a few seconds, and then picked up his phone.

"Will you send up Alex Rider to my office?" He did not say please – nor did he have to. Nobody was polite here – most people didn't even trust each other. This was intelligence, and one of the first lessons you are taught in intelligence is don't trust anyone. Not even your friends. No one. Alex Rider walked up the polished wooden stairs – he didn't like the lift much – and turned left down a narrow corridor, past the office that had once belonged to his uncle, Ian. He reached the solid oak door, with a plaque nailed to it with the word 'Blunt' carved in plain, bold letters. Alex already knew what he was going to say before he entered. He did not knock – he knew Blunt was waiting for him. He turned the brass doorknob and swung the door open.

"Alex! What a pleasure to see you!" Blunt said the words as if Alex was an old school friend who he had bumped into on the street. But of course Blunt never walked the streets. It was too dangerous. Alex began his planned speech.

"Look, I know what you're going to say. But I'm not working for you again. I don't care that a car just exploded in my street, I am not working for you again. It was just a chance explosion. I'm sure it wasn't aimed at me. So will you just leave me alone?" Blunt was almost impressed with Alex's little speech. But of course it took a lot to impress him.

"Alex," he began. "I know how you feel, but there is something you should know. The car that exploded? Well you see, it _was _aimed at you. I know this is the last thing you want to hear, but the Triads have managed to track you down. And while you stay in the UK, I'm afraid you are in danger. The Triads will keep taking a pop at you until finally, they succeed. And believe me, they will succeed. That is, if you stay here."

"What are you suggesting? I'm not having a repeat of what happened at Skeleton Key."

"Oh no, don't worry. We think we're being quite reasonable here."

"We?" Blunt ignored Alex's comment and continued.

"We are going to help you. What we are going to is give you an American Visa, and will remove all traces of your life in the UK. You will move to the United States with your housekeeper, Jack Starbright. We will create records of your so called 'existence' in the USA, including a passport. We will give you a new life where you will be known as Alex Starbright. What do you think?" Alex wasn't quite sure what to say.

"I... what are the conditions?"

"Well, this is what we want you to do."


	3. Briefing

Briefing

"This is insane!" Alex was angry now. "How do you expect me to accept this offer?"

"I know you will accept, from the sole fact that you _need_ to accept. I know your situation, and I therefore, I know what you will do. And what you will do is accept."

"So what, you just expect me to walk into this complex and pretend I've been there all along?"

"Well yes. Not on your own, of course. We will send Crawley along. He hasn't been in the field for a while, he'll enjoy it. It's relatively simple. It shouldn't be difficult – you've been in these situations before. Just get it into your head. Crawley is a cousin of yours, just moved to the UK. He's been living in Northern Ireland for a few months, and just recently found out of your existence. He-"

"Wait. You're not getting me! I am not an adult. I can't just flip in and out of lifestyles whenever you like!"

"Alex, I would advise you not to argue with me. So, where was I?" Blunt paused, his eyes moving in thought. Alex noticed something different about Blunt, something he had never seen before. He had forgotten something. Surely the head of MI6 shouldn't lose his memory? Alex held back the thought and listened.

"Oh yes! That was it! So yes, Crawley will be your 'cousin'." Blunt even made the inverted commas with his fingers. "And this is your story Alex. Remember this well – it may just save your life."

"Wait! You said this wouldn't be dangerous! What are you trying to put over on me?" Alex noticed something in Blunt's eyes. Blunt had made a mistake, and he knew it. Alex was certain there was something wrong.

"Are you OK, Mr Blunt?" Alex wasn't sure why he called him 'Mr' Blunt – it just felt appropriate. Blunt acknowledged the words Alex spoke, and stored it in his over-populated mind. He felt something strange at that moment – either respect for Alex, or sadness that he would not be a Mr Blunt anymore, just Alan, the guy who used to be a boring man at the head of a bank.

"Umm... yes. I'm fine."

"Are you sure? You don't seem yourself."

"YES BOY! WILL YOU JUST LEAVE ME ALONE?" Blunt stood up and tipped over his desk, which hit Alex's leg. Alex stood up in defence – he had only seen Blunt angry once before, and then it wasn't this bad.

"WHAT ARE YOU DOING? Just calm down!" Blunt knew that what he had done was wrong, and after everything that had happened, it had just all been too much.

"I... I'm so sorry Alex. This may not help, but I have to tell you something. This mission, the one I want you to do? It won't just be _your_ last mission Alex. This will be _the_ last mission."

"What do you mean?"

"They're shutting us down. The Prime Minister has decided we're not needed anymore. So that's it. In a month, there'll be nothing left. No me, no Mrs Jones, no agents. Nothing. So as one final goodbye to this organization, we're going to let you take the lead."

"I'm sorry."

"Oh, don't be. If your mission goes well – which I assure you it will – the PM may even let us continue. Of course, not me. You must understand, Alex, that I am old. I am not as effective as I once was, and if the PM decides we will carry on, I will hand my position to Mrs Jones. Anyway, we're getting sidetracked. We must focus." Blunt picked up the desk – Alex wanted to help, but felt it was not wanted by Blunt – and returned to his chair.

"So what's my story then?"

"OK, so he recently got in contact with you – Crawley I mean – and wants to get to know you. So you've decided to go on a short holiday with him, in Richhill – a village which is known for it's Richhill Castle. It's also been announced recently that there will be a 2 million pound renovation, which a lot of the community are not happy about. The main focus of the renovation involves the construction of a large cereal factory, funded by Kellogg's. But a week ago, they dropped out for no apparent reason, not reclaiming any money either. This means that there is, at the moment, a completed factory in the middle of the countryside, with no one there."

"So what's this got to do with you?"

"Well, we've had a tip-off from a worker at Kellogg's that he heard a man – Douglas Macclestone – talking on the phone to someone. This is what he wrote down from what he heard. It may be a bit hard to read – the person who wrote it obviously couldn't spell well." Blunt handed over a piece of lined paper, folded in half twice. It looked a bit scruffy: it was crumpled up, a bit discoloured, and what struck Alex the most was that it had been ripped in half. Was there more to this conversation that he didn't want to reveal? Was he stopped from revealing the information – had the man, Douglas realised he had been overheard? Alex forced himself to ignore his thoughts and read the writing on the page.

_'Hello I dont understand. you said i dint need to pay upfront_

_OK i will do wat you wont but on the conditon that you get the stuff_

_OK i will make sure no one gets in to the factry its a good job i got a load of guns haha. i will just have to pay the staf can you giv me the monny_

_Wot about the apolo progect'_

Alex wasn't quite sure what to make out from the letter, but at least he knew something strange was going on. Why was no one allowed in the factory? And what was the Apolo project?

It was Blunt who spoke first. "I know. Strange isn't it? Well yes, so we would just like you to keep an eye on the factory, jot down who arrives and leaves, that sort of thing. Crawley will fill you in on the rest when you get there. I have arranged for a car to pick you up at nine o'clock, which will take you to Heathrow Airport, where you will be flown to George Best Belfast City Airport. Crawley will pick you up there and then you will be taken to Richhill."

"Thanks Mr Blunt. I'll see you later... hopefully." Alex laughed, and to his surprise, so did blunt. It seemed that he was allowed to be unprofessional, considering he would only be in a profession for one more week.

"It was good to see you again Alex." Alex handed the note back to Blunt, turned round and left the room. Alex thought to himself. Well, it seems that Blunt does have a heart. Alex laughed to himself, then left the headquarters of MI6 for the last time.


	4. A Centimeter or Two

A Centimeter or Two

The car was a silver Mercedes-Benz SLR McLaren, with a modified engine to reach speeds of over 230 mph, and Alex wondered how hypocritical MI6 were. They say that their aim is to keep the country safe, but they insist on sending a car down a motorway at blistering speeds, endangering how many lives? Well, Alex thought, at least they ensured that he was in comfort. The smooth leather seats and wooden interior made Alex feel like he was in luxury. That was the strange thing – he had been kidnapped, abducted, and much more. But for some reason, he always seemed to be in luxurious places.

The car turned off the motorway, slowed down, and drove onto an extremely long road, with old shops on either side. The place had obviously seen better days.

"Rider, this is Greyhaves. It used to be one of the main tourist spots in Northern Ireland, before the troubles. After that, no one came, the shops went out of business, and the town was ruined. And what made it worse was that it was barely accessible, before the motorway was extended past it. But of course, everyone had forgotten it by then." The man was tall and very muscular, a boxer perhaps. His face was chiseled and pale, and he wore black sunglasses that covered his eyes.

Now the car turned off the main road and onto a small windy road, where the buildings stopped suddenly. Bushes hung over the fence on both sides, as if trying to invade the road, to suck it into the rest of the countryside.

"We're almost there now. Only a few kilomet-" The man slumped forward in his chair and Alex immediately realized what had happened. He found the brake pedal and pushed down hard, until the car had slowed. He latched the door open and threw himself out, hiding behind an invading bush. Two men ran over to the still moving car.

"Where is the boy?"

"I don't know. He must have escaped." Alex didn't wait. He made for a large rock that was resting on the ground a few meters away.

"Don't worry. He can't have gone far. We'll start a search tomorrow." Alex waited until he was sure he was alone, then cautiously stood up, in a fighting stance, just in case. His precautions served him well – one of the men jumped out from behind a tree, pointing a knife at Alex.

"Boy, come here!" Alex responded with a heel kick, which slammed into the man's chest, winding him. He stumbled back and dropped the knife. Alex saw the opportunity and drove the palm of his hand into the man's face, just below his nose. The man crumpled against the tree with a thud.

OK, time to move. How far had the driver said Richhill was? A few kilometers. Alex could easily make that distance in what, half an hour? He thought about how extremely lucky he had been. He had no doubts that the bullet had been meant for him. The driver had turned a second before, moving his head slightly. A centimeter or two had saved his life. Again.

It was late afternoon by the time Alex arrived at Richhill. It was a beautiful place, with old country cottages dotted about, and market stalls quietly selling goods. Hills rolled away in the background – the whole place was just picturesque. The townsfolk were milling about by a nearby lake and returning from their hard days of work. A river ran through the town, cutting it in half. And that was when Alex saw a column of dark, ugly smoke rising from a tall chimney. Now he understood why the locals were angry.

The first thought that crept into Alex's mind was to contact MI6. It didn't take him too long to find a payphone – there were old style red telephone boxes littered everywhere. He took out a piece of folded paper from his jeans pocket, and read the number. He punched in the digits and waited for the ringing tone. It never came. Alex had no idea what to do – he was in the middle of a strange village in the middle of nowhere. He left the telephone box and looked for someone to ask. A man walked by in floral clothes.

"Excuse me? Has anyone moved here recently? You know, a bit suspicious?"

"Oh, I see, you're not from round here, are you? Who are you staying with?"

"That's what I'm trying to find out! Hey!" The man walked off, shaking his head.

"Kids these days." He muttered to himself, a little too loudly. Alex made his way to the lake where most of the people were. He asked around – half thought he was mad, and half had no idea what he was going on about. He was just about to give up hope, when he remembered. Crawley! He approached an old woman.

"Is there a John Crawley living in this town?"

"Umm, no, I'm afraid. Sorry dear." Now Alex had really given up hope. He was about to go to one of the hotels, perhaps wager for a cheap room. He could do more in the morning, when he had the whole day ahead of him to find a solution. And that was when he saw a familiar face in the distance. To be honest, he didn't really need to see his face. His body was just as recognizable, bigger than anyone's that Alex had ever met. He made his way towards the man, and when he was closer, the man recognized him.

"Oh, Alex! Hello old chap! What are you doing here?"


End file.
